


When In Rome

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "Jensen getting mad later in the hotel room because Misha humped him onstage and he had to hide the fact that it turned him on for the rest of the panel."</p>
            </blockquote>





	When In Rome

"Have I told you how much I actually _hate_ you?"

Misha laughs the question off as Jensen's arms circle his waist, the taller man pressing in close behind him as he slides the room key through. They're barely halfway through the door before Jensen's fingers are finding each button on the front of Misha's shirt and pulling them undone. His jeans are already around his ankles (Jensen got a _little_ handsy in the elevator), and there's a pretty decent tent in his boxers. The door slowly swings closed as Misha turns in Jensen's arms, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss to the other's lips before trailing kisses up Jensen's jawline. 

"Hate me, huh? I'm starting to think that's bullshit," Misha practically _purrs_ into Jensen's ear. He lets his own shirt fall to the floor and Jensen presses forward with narrowed eyes, Misha gasping at the cold press of the wall against his bare back. 

Jensen straightens up for a moment, meeting Misha's quickly darkening gaze with his own. "Mish, you kinda humped me. On stage. In front of countless fangirls. I officially reserve the right to - "

Misha doesn't let him finish, of course; presses his mouth against Jensen's in a kiss that starts out slow and lazy, their lips coming together and pulling apart. But then Misha's hand brushes against the hard line in Jensen's jeans, and the game completely changes. Jensen's kisses become harder, more desperate, one hand flying down and applying pressure to his cock, straining against the material of his jeans.

Misha's teeth capture Jensen's lower lip, give a rough tug as a smirk plays at Misha's own lips. Jensen growls, the sound reverberating through his chest. "Jesus _fuck_ , Mish."

Misha chuckles; it's low and raspy and the sound shoots straight to Jensen's dick. Jensen's hands curl around Misha's hips, a leg sliding between Misha's parted thighs and lifting. Jensen grins when he feels the hard outline of Misha's cock against his thigh, and his hips roll forward for good measure, drawing a gasp through Misha's parted and swollen lips. 

Jensen leans down, brushes his lips against Misha's ear and lets his teeth catch against the skin just below. "Tell me somethin', Misha. Did you mean to basically fucking _grind_ against me on stage?"

Misha's breathless, and Jensen knows he is, so he pulls his leg back for a moment and Misha whines from the sudden loss of contact, nodding his head feverishly. "Y-yeah, I did."

Jensen laughs against Misha's ear, fitting their hips together as he reaches down to push his own jeans out of the way. "Knew it. Tell me one more thing, though," Jensen starts, bringing a finger to Misha's chin and tilting his face up, meeting Misha's eyes with his own. "Did you have any idea how it would effect me? Because you know what? I was practically hard as a fucking _rock_ for the rest of the panel."

Misha's body gives a full-on shudder at Jensen's words, cock pressing insistently against Jensen's hip. The front of Misha's boxers are damp against Jensen's skin and Jensen gives an experimental roll of his hips, grinning as Misha lets out a guttural moan, nodding his head slowly. 

"Thought so," Jensen smirks, hands sliding down to push at Misha's boxers, letting them fall around his ankles. Misha kicks them away before flicking his tongue out to wet his lips, glancing down for a moment as he rids of Jensen's boxer-briefs. 

Jensen looks up into Misha's eyes for a split-second, gets all the consent he needs in the mischievous glint in Misha's gaze before sliding his cock in next to Misha's. Their groans are practically identical, both men tilting their heads back and closing their eyes with the initial slide of skin-on-skin. Jensen stills his hips for one brief moment, blinking his eyes back open to catch a glimpse of Misha's face; eyes screwed shut tight, full lower lip wedged between his teeth. With a low, rumbling groan, Jensen rocks his hips into Misha's once, then again, and one last _excruciatingly_ slow time before picking up a moderate rhythm. His hands are loose around Misha's hips, simply holding him in place as he ruts forward. Misha's lips are now parted, and every gasp and sigh and moan is absolute music to Jensen's ears. Their hips are rolling, grinding together with the slickness of precome and sweat between them. 

Misha's hands find their way into Jensen's hair at some point, tugging and pulling with each moan that's pulled from Misha's mouth, and Jensen rewards him with a faster and harder pace. Misha comes moments later, spilling onto Jensen's shirt, and it's what pushes Jensen over the edge himself, coming in hot stripes against Misha's abdomen. Jensen's knees buckle with it, but Misha somehow finds the strength to hold them both steady. They're both panting, practically gasping for air for the couple of minutes that follow, standing against each other in a mess of sweat and sex.

Jensen turns his head, his lips pressing a soft kiss against Misha's temple before he lets out a soft laugh. "I love you, Mish, I really do. But if you pull that shit on stage again, I might have to kill you."


End file.
